


lurking

by Birdschach



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, FE Rarepair Week, Magic used in what you might not call ethical ways, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10082402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdschach/pseuds/Birdschach
Summary: Is it so wrong for her to miss her friend? For her to think about her often? So often that in the dead of night, she creeps -strolls- out to catch the slightest glimpse of her? Maribelle grows so distracted, debating with herself, that she nearly misses the languid shadow that also lurks near the newlyweds’ tent. That is, until it shifts, and draws Maribelle’s attention. The noble grips her parasol tightly, fearing a brigand or assassin has managed to sneak into their camp. But as the shadow approaches, the faint light of the stars reveals a comrade in arms. Though, admittedly, one Maribelle would rather not see.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For FE Rarepair Week! I'm going off of the prompt of "Cursed"

Maribelle strolls through the camp, late one night. Slowly, quietly, taking care not to make a sound. Wait, quietly? Doesn’t something sound off about that?  _ Leisurely _ sounds much better. It’s not as if Maribelle would have any reason to sneak around, or anything of the sort. Especially not near Lissa’s tent, though that title is no longer sufficient. Now, it is  _ Robin _ and Lissa’s tent, and Maribelle cannot simply stop by as she did in the past.

But that, as they say, is how the cookie crumbles. Surely Maribelle will be married soon enough, and whatever fixation she has with the princess of Ylisse will fade away. For now, however, is there really any harm in  _ happening _ to walk past their tent? She’s not there on purpose, Gods, no! That would be indecent, inexcusable! Though the noble is only on an evening walk, nothing more, she turns off the path after passing their tent. She circles the couple-sized structure, not entirely sure of what she’s expecting.

Is it so wrong for her to miss her friend? For her to think about her often? So often that in the dead of night, she creeps -  _ strolls _ \- out to catch the slightest glimpse of her? Maribelle grows so distracted, debating with herself, that she nearly misses the languid shadow that also lurks near the newlyweds’ tent. That is, until it shifts, and draws Maribelle’s attention. The noble grips her parasol tightly, fearing a brigand or assassin has managed to sneak into their camp. But as the shadow approaches, the faint light of the stars reveals a comrade in arms. Though, admittedly, one Maribelle would rather not see.

“I’m surprised to see you out here.”

“Hmph, well, I have to say that I’m not surprised at all to see  _ you _ out here. Creeping about in the dead of night, are we?”

“Yes. And I’m very busy with that, so you’d best run along. Isn’t it past your bedtime, anyway?”

“I can stay up as late as I like, I’ll have you know! And I’ll not be leaving! Not while you’re so close to my darling Lissa’s tent! I don’t know what manner of foul curse you’re planning on casting on her, but I simply will not allow it.”

“A curse? On the little princess? Don’t make me laugh. If I ever resorted to that, it would only be to get her out of the way.”

“Oh? And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Robin is mine. I don’t know how that little  _ minx _ managed to win his heart, but it was already claimed.”

“Ha, as if that’s any sort of surprise.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Lissa has an elegant air to her! She’s sprightly and refined, completely adorable. She doesn’t waltz around, hanging out of her clothes - and I dread to even call them that - like some sort of tavern wench.”

At this, Tharja bristles. Maribelle spoke without thinking, not considering that angering a dark mage is rarely a good idea.

“You’d best begin your apology.”

“And why would I apologize, for speaking the truth?”

“So, it’s the truth, hm? That I dress no better than a common harlot? Well, I’ve seen your eyes drift down more than once, so it would seem the look charms at least  _ someone _ .”

“What did you just say!?” Maribelle growls, struggling to stay quiet. Though, honestly, the intensity of her denial and the pink tinge to her cheeks do plenty to convince Tharja that she’s struck some sort of nerve. And as much as Maribelle is loathe to think about it, she has stolen a few glances at the insufferable woman’s form. It stirs up...desires, in her, that she’d rather ignore. “How dare you speak to me like that! Implying such a thing about a noble, why, I never!”

“I didn’t stutter. Why don’t you run home to daddy’s keep, and tell him about the mean dark mage? Of course, then you’d be leaving me here, to do whatever I will. I think I’d only give poor Lissa a week, before Robin is eating out of the palm of my hand.”

“You’re despicable!”

“Thank you. So, are you going to leave, or do we need to take this elsewhere, before we ‘lurkers’ are discovered?”

“Gods, why would we take this elsewhere?”

“Clearly, we have a lot to discuss. I think I could have a lot of fun with a little spitfire like you. Maybe even enough to distract me for a while.”

“...and you’d leave Lissa alone?”

“Even if I promised you that I will, would you believe me? Besides, I can tell you’re at least a  _ little  _ curious.”

“Even if you’re right, do you think I’d admit it?” Maribelle says, her tone mocking that of the mage. “I’ll take your little deal, but only to keep you away from Lissa. My own desires take no part in this.”

“Well, well, well. That certainly sounds like a confession to me.”

~X~

Maribelle follows along behind the mage, letting Tharja lead the way to her own tent. Neither have spoken since they began walking, but somehow, Maribelle knew Tharja’s tent is where they’d end up. Likely, the mage has some sort of nefarious equipment she plans to use, and that thought only horrifies Maribelle half as much as it should. As much as she hates herself for it, Maribelle’s desires have been getting more and more out of hand. She simply cannot stop herself from thinking about Lissa, and then about Lissa and Robin, and then about the two of them together, and how much she wishes it was  _ her _ with Lissa instead.

After that thought, the noble could never calm herself until she’d taken matters into her own hand, so to speak. But even that grew less and less effective, culminating in her skulking around Lissa’s tent in the dead of night. It was pathetic, she knew, but hopefully this… this might actually help. At the very least, Tharja’s body was incredible. Her proportions were  _ perfect,  _ and it was absolutely  _ maddening _ . As they walked, holding their silence like some precious gem, Maribelle couldn’t help but let her eyes wander. The way Tharja moved was entrancing, her each and every step was languid. 

“I can feel your eyes on me, you know,” Tharja says, eventually. “Don’t worry, you’ll get to see plenty more.”

“I don’t know how you’d conjure up such a peculiar notion. If I was looking at you, it was only to steel myself for what’s to come.”

“Please. You’re a fool if you think you stand even the slightest chance against me, Maribelle.”

For some reason, hearing Tharja say her name like that sends a shiver down the healer’s back. A shiver that settles into her core, and begins to spread through her, shifting into a familiar warmth.

_ Gods, why am I so excited for this? _ she thinks, and her heartbeat seems to quicken. But her arousal continues to build, and her face grows even more flushed.  _ This woman is insufferable! I can’t want this! _

“I believe I can hold my own against you,” Maribelle says, hoping to convince herself as much as Tharja. “After all, I’m a noble! You’re not dealing with one of the smallfolk, here.”

“Ohh, yes, you’re going to be a  _ lot _ of fun,” Tharja says, as the two approach her tent. She opens the flap, and ushers Maribelle inside. “And I  _ do _ hope that you have fun too.”

“I doubt that.”

“Well, if you’re going to have to keep me distracted either way, isn’t it best if you have some fun while you’re at it? Whatever you might think about me, I’m not  _ completely _ heartless. In fact, I think I have a few extra around here, somewhere.”

And as Maribelle looks around the cluttered tent, she’d believe it. Hearts would be no oddity, among the countless strange objects Tharja keeps around. There’s a certain sort of tidiness to it, she supposes. Even if it is organized chaos at best, Maribelle doesn’t doubt that Tharja knows where every single curio, book, and talisman is. Though, naturally, Maribelle’s own quarters are perfectly squared away, and would put a mess like this to shame.

“I suppose I can’t be so lucky that we’d simply put an end to all this banter, and get down to business?”

“Cutting right to the chase, hm? Why, Maribelle, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were eager to get started,” Tharja says, breaking into a wicked laugh. Maribelle feels a complicated mix of emotions, as Tharja mocks her. She’s angry, of course, downright  _ furious _ , but there’s something else. She feels embarrassed that Tharja would laugh at her like that, and, to her surprise, that embarrassment only increases her desires.

“More like I’m eager to be done.”

“You could always walk out. Of course, I’d be very disappointed.”

“Yes, yes, you’d lose your distraction and take it out on Lissa.”

“Ha, so you believed all of that?”

“And what do you mean by that!?”

“As much as I hate that it’s someone else doing it, Robin is happy. And I wouldn’t want to disturb that, even if I would surely do a better job of it.”

“Then why did you drag me to your tent?”

“If I recall correctly, you followed me. And, well… I suppose I was drawn to you. Birds of a feather, and all that.”

“Don’t lump me in with you! So what if we’re going through the same thing, that doesn’t mean tha-” Maribelle begins, but she never finishes the sentence. Tharja closes the gap between them long before she can, and the mage presses her lips against those of the healer. There’s a clatter, as Maribelle drops her parasol in her surprise. But as Tharja’s hands pull her in closer, Maribelle melts into the kiss, raising her hands to the insufferable woman’s dark hair, feeling how soft it is, how warm and pleasant it feels as she runs her fingers through it.

“You… you tricked me…” Maribelle says, weakly, as Tharja pulls away from her. The arousal that smoldered just below the surface swells, threatening to consume the healer. 

“I assumed you knew better than to trust a dark mage. Especially one who dresses ‘like a tavern wench,’” Tharja retorts. “Though I don’t think I’ll hear you complain about that again, will I?”

“I like it,” Maribelle answers, looking away quickly. “Gods, it leaves so  _ little _ to the imagination, and I like it.”   
“Is it better than that  _ sprightly, elegant _ look you went on about?”

“I don’t see how I’m expected to compare the two! They’re like night and day.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be easier for you by the time we’re done,” Tharja says, one of her hands falling to Maribelle’s hip, and squeezing her gently. The other slips in between Maribelle’s legs, and brushes against her. In spite of the clothes between Tharja’s fingers and Maribelle’s cunt, she can feel the touch plainly, and whimpers softly. “After all, I’m sure Lissa’s never touched you like this, hm?”

“Only in fantasies…” Maribelle admits, then gasps. The noble can’t believe she would openly say something like that, and realizes just how far gone she already is. Clearly, she isn’t thinking straight.

“Do you have any other  _ fantasies _ you want to tell me about?” the mage asks, her touch never faltering. The gentle way she strokes at Maribelle surprises the healer, and coaxes her into being more open.

“I… yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Ah… that dancer… Olivia…”

“Hmph. Is that right? And you wouldn’t say that  _ she _ dresses like a harlot?”

“Even if she… even if she does, I like it…”

“Good. Don’t think that I don’t appreciate your honesty, in fact,” Tharja says, as she shifts her hands and begins unfastening Maribelle’s pants, “I think you’ve earned a reward.”

“A reward?”

“Yes. You're really coming out of that prissy shell of yours, and I am simply dying to see more,” Tharja says, pulling Maribelle's pants down, causing the noble to gasp. And Tharja can see why, considering the lacy, provocative panties Maribelle was hiding. The healer’s face goes bright red, as Tharja chuckles. “I never would have expected you to have on something like this.”

“I… uhm, I can explain that! See, it is expected for a noblewoman to always dress as if it is the night of her wedding! Er, just in case?”

“Please, don't lie to me. I can tell you like wearing them. I bet you're  _ thrilled _ someone's finally seeing them. That someone's finally,” Tharja says, slowly pressing her fingers against the crotch of the noble’s panties, guiding them around the edges of Maribelle's cunt, “ _ touching _ them.”

But before Maribelle can muster the strength to answer, in spite of the pleasure that threatens to overwhelm her, Tharja shoves her. Maribelle yelps as she falls, a noise that certainly doesn't suit a noblewoman. Perhaps, if Maribelle remembered the bed that is behind her, she wouldn't be quite so panicked. Instead of crashing to the ground, she ends up sprawled out on Tharja’s bed, panting heavily from a mix of her desires and her nerves.

Once Maribelle is down, it’s easy for Tharja to close in, slipping her shoes and the pants still tangled around her ankles off with ease. Then, the mage climbs into the bed, holding herself above Maribelle. The healer squirms beneath Tharja, not really sure of what she should do. Her fantasies were never like this, never fleshed out enough for her to worry about what she’s doing. Tharja, however, knows exactly what she’s doing. She turns around, facing towards Maribelle’s legs, and Maribelle can’t deny how much she  _ loves _ the view of Tharja’s ass, as tight as that strange mesh the mage wears is.

And that view only gets better, as Tharja bends down, lowering her head. Maribelle can’t really process what is happening, only thinking of how much she enjoys what she sees. Until, that is, Tharja’s face is between her legs. The mage presses her lips against Maribelle’s cunt, and even through the fabric of her panties, the feeling is shocking. Maribelle cries out, moaning softly, as Tharja’s tongue darts out, pressing into the already damp panties. The noble cannot believe she would be so  _ brazen _ , doing something like that through her panties! But that isn’t a concern for long, as Tharja yanks them down, off, and to the side, leaving Maribelle in nothing but her frilly shirt. Then, she lowers her head once more. 

“P-please…” Maribelle stammers, as Tharja presses her lips to the healer’s needy folds once more. “I don’t think I can… take much more…”

“What was that about holding your own against me?” Tharja asks, pulling back just enough to speak. “Glad to see that was all just idle prattling. Either way, I’m nowhere near done with you, and you haven’t done a thing to please me. So, I suppose you need a little… motivation.”

The vague threat is followed by words Maribelle can’t quite make out, but before she can ask her new lover to repeat them, Tharja has lowered her head again. This time, she is much quicker, forcing her tongue into Maribelle’s wet cunt forcefully, and letting it linger wherever Maribelle seems the most sensitive. The noblewoman  _ squirms _ under the contact, her hands resting atop Tharja’s head, pushing her down even deeper, as her limit grows nearer.

In fact, Maribelle thinks this is the greatest she’s ever felt, so close to her climax that she simply cannot last another second. But she does. Despite Tharja showing no sign of slowing, she holds on. Despite  _ needing _ to come more than she ever has, she holds on. 

_ Gods, it should have happened by now! _ Maribelle thinks, her moans reduced to pathetic whimpers, with a weak “please” thrown in here or there.  _ Why can’t I come!? _

Tharja pulls back, chuckling wickedly. She turns to look at Maribelle over her shoulder, and the troubadour can see how damp Tharja’s mouth is, a combination of how intensely she’s been pleasuring Maribelle, and how wet the noble has gotten as she struggles to climax. But the mage only licks her lips, before speaking.

“Have you started to figure it out?”

“Figure… figure what out?” Maribelle asks, her need not fading in the slightest, even now that Tharja has stopped. In fact, she begins to feel an  _ ache _ , that continues to build as she wants nothing more than the relief of her climax.

“That I’ve cursed you, of course.”

“Y- you  _ what!? _ ”

“Cursed you. Gods, it wasn’t a deafening curse.”

“But… why? And what manner of… of curse was it?”

“Your pleasure will grow, and grow, and grow. But you’ll never reach orgasm.”

“That’s… that’s… deplorable!”

“Oh, please, that’s a relatively tame one. I could also dial up your sensitivity, and make each and every touch exponentially more pleasant. Combine that with this, and I could probably shatter your mind in no time.”

“P-please, I jus-” Maribelle starts, but Tharja presses her thumb into her folds once more, rubbing her clit, and forcing a low moan out of her, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I just need to… to finish.”

“Well, you’re not the only one. Seeing you squirm like this is really driving me crazy, too, you know. And I  _ know _ you’re liking the view down there, so how about you do a little work?”

“I’ve never-”

“Then learn. When  _ I  _ come, the curse will be broken, and  _ you _ can come.”

With that promise made, Tharja buries her face between Maribelle’s legs once more, obviously not planning on slowing down, even as Maribelle wishes for nothing more than a moment’s peace. She finds it harder and harder to focus, as the ache of her need grows larger. She lifts her hands, resting them on Tharja's shapely thighs, earning an encouraging moan from the mage.

Of course, such a sound reverberates through Maribelle's core, making her pleasure even more overwhelming. She's desperate, needy, she  _ has  _ to come and it has to be soon and she just needs to get Tharja's damn clothes out of the way. So Maribelle tugs at Tharja's panties, yanking them down, and leaving only the mesh of the tights that cover Tharja between her and the mage. Then, though she has no idea what she's doing, she raises her head up, her lips pressing against the lips of Tharja's pussy.

It's odd, so damp and hot and  _ pleasant, _ and before Maribelle can stop herself, she's biting at the mesh, tugging it with her teeth, and savoring the satisfying  _ rip _ she hears as the thin fabric tears. With nothing else between them, Maribelle  _ buries _ her face in Tharja's cunt, pushing her tongue into her folds, tasting her, and loving every embarrassing second of it. She  _ has _ to do this, has to make the despicable mage come and  _ Gods does she want to anyway! _ She only wishes she could see that smug face of hers break, even knowing that Tharja would still be in control. Maribelle simply can't bring herself to care about anything but pleasing Tharja. The full ache between her legs, exacerbated by Tharja's tongue tracing shapes within her, has escalated to a full on  _ hurt _ as the noble feels her heart pounding out of her chest. She feels like she's about to burst, but until Tharja comes, she'll have no such luck.

Desperate, eager to try anything, she begins reaching to her breasts, teasing at her nipples, roughly pushing her tongue into her,  _ anything _ she can do to drive her tormenter closer. Finally, Tharja begins to moan, and it is no longer out of encouragement. The mage is thrilled that Maribelle's gotten so desperate, so needy, that she's putting her all into getting Tharja off. And, it would seem, her all is nothing to scoff at, even if she has little to no idea what she's doing.

Tharja can't see the noblewoman's face, but imagining it is enough to send a shiver down her spine. She lowers herself, driving her cunt against Maribelle's face as she presses her own tongue deeper into the blonde, savoring each second of this utter bliss. Until finally, finally, Tharja relents. She stops holding back, allowing herself to come.

The dark mage’s head tips back, and she cries out, feeling the relief of her climax washing over her. As soon as she's done, true to her word, whatever dark magic that suppressed Maribelle fades, and the blonde’s head falls back to the bed immediately, as she cries out as well, though her need makes the cry much louder than Tharja’s.

Maribelle loses herself in the pleasure of her climax, feeling all the  _ tension _ that had built up fading, and her vision begins to fade with it. She manages to barely cling to consciousness, as she recovers from the incredible pleasure she feels. Just as she's nearly caught her breath, Tharja turns around, and lowers her head so that she's murmuring in Maribelle's ear.

“Now that was a fantastic distraction. Maybe I'll try making you more sensitive next… I wonder how many times you can come before you pass out?” she muses, and Maribelle can't deny that she feels a certain thrill at the idea. Perhaps whatever it is these two have could work, even if it is only a distraction.

 


End file.
